


Truth for Wounds

by chemm80



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, YAGKYAS, YAGKYAS 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemm80/pseuds/chemm80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Nate can’t really say that Tim Bryan is the <em>last</em> person he expected to walk into the room tonight, but he’d be hard pressed in the moment to name someone higher on that list. Of all the Marines under his command, he’d have thought Doc Bryan the most natural candidate for a successful post-military career, certainly without benefit of a two-hour workshop sponsored by the VA.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth for Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> See end.

Nate can’t really say that Tim Bryan is the _last_ person he expected to walk into the room tonight, but he’d be hard pressed in the moment to name someone higher on that list. Of all the Marines under his command, he’d have thought Doc Bryan the most natural candidate for a successful post-military career, certainly without benefit of a two-hour workshop sponsored by the VA. But here Bryan is, big as life—and twice as angry, from the looks of him—as he walks in and claims a folding chair near the back of the mostly-full room, just seconds before the class is scheduled to start. 

Nate always starts precisely on time.

Nate looks at Bryan, slouched in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, his customary spare-me-your-bullshit scowl firmly in place. Nate is tempted to begin the seminar with one of those cheesy icebreakers—"let’s all introduce ourselves and explain briefly why we’re here"—but he’s never done that before and it seems dishonest to start now just because Bryan’s appearance has him thrown. 

He does his best to shake off his unease and introduces himself, turns on the overhead projector and starts the program. He’s given this spiel enough times that he can pretty much reel it off by rote, which is good because at least half of his mental energy is occupied with figuring out the elephant—the former Navy corpsman—in the room. Bryan doesn’t look so different from the last time Nate saw him, although that was several years ago now. Nate knows from the platoon’s informal email tree that Doc got out of the military a couple of years ago, and he’d really thought the man was in med school. Or maybe he’d just assumed.

Doc Bryan sits through the whole presentation without much change in expression, but Nate can read between the lines. It’s not rocket science, after all. Bryan is tense, his body language shut down and closed off and those soulful eyes are fixed on Nate’s in wordless communication of everything that is wrong with the world. It’s a look Nate well recognizes, and at least one thing is clear.

Doc is still an angry man.

Bryan’s thunderous expression takes Nate back to Iraq, and the sensation is somewhat unpleasant. As much as he trusted Doc’s medical acumen during Operation Iraqi Freedom, he wasn’t a man Nate could ever be entirely comfortable around. He had a way of saying out loud the things that Nate couldn’t allow himself to express. Nate had always experienced Doc’s outbursts when they were over there as simultaneously alarming and relieving, actually. It was a discomfiting combination, to say the least, but it was helpful, too, in a way, making him feel like he had an outlet for his negative feelings about command and their nonsensical orders, the sheer idiocy being perpetrated on him and his men, if only by proxy. 

When the presentation is over and the few questions have been answered, Bryan gets up and heads for the door, like he’s not even going to acknowledge that he knows Nate before he stalks off to parts unknown again. Nate gets stuck on that for a second, almost waiting too long to speak.

"Doc."

Bryan freezes in mid stride, framed in the doorway. He turns, partly, but doesn’t look directly at Nate.

"No one calls me that anymore," he says stiffly.

By the time he finishes speaking, Nate has approached to stand behind him, within arm’s length. 

"Sorry." Nate has the urge to reach out and touch him, to somehow anchor him there, stop him from getting away for another span of years, maybe forever, but he’s reasonably sure that wouldn’t be welcome. They’re not friends, never really were, and Nate has no claim on Bryan’s time. Still, it’s pretty clear that Bryan is hurting, fucked up over something, and Nate can’t just let him go without trying to do something about that. Some of his mother’s social-worker sensibility must have rubbed off on him over the years. _Thanks, Mom_ , he thinks ruefully.

"Hey, are you local now Tim?" Nate asks. "I mean, do you have to get home or…" Bryan looks at him then.

"No." He doesn’t elaborate and Nate decides to push it a little further. 

"Have you eaten? I was going to order in, and my place isn’t far. You’re welcome to join me." Nate raises his eyebrows questioningly, no idea what he’s doing. His instincts have generally served him well in the past, though, and he’s inclined to trust them now. 

Doc just looks at him steadily for a minute and then nods. Nate’s about as surprised by that as he has been by anything so far this evening.

"Good. Let’s go."

Bryan follows him home in a pickup truck that looks like it has seen better days. Nate is trying to figure out what Tim has been up to during the time he’s been out of the military, but he’s not having much luck. It’s not something he’s spent a lot of time thinking about and he has a feeling he’s missing more than a few pieces of the puzzle besides.

They’re sitting on the couch with beer and pizza on the coffee table before Tim says much of anything, but the quiet is not as awkward as Nate had thought it might be. 

"Do you hear from any of the guys in the platoon?" Nate asks, taking a swallow of his beer.

Tim looks sorely put upon at that.

"Other than your former gunnery sergeant constantly sending me links to every mention of me or anyone else in Bravo Two on the internet? No."

"What? Mike?"

"Yes, Mike. I guess he’s got nothing better to do than fuck around on the military message boards or something. Whatever…apparently he feels compelled to make me aware that people still talk about us, for whatever fucked-up reason. Like they know anything about us." He punctuates the end of that sentence with an annoyed huff.

"That damned miniseries," Nate says. He's as over the attention that was focused on them as Doc is. In fact, Nate almost wishes they’d never made the show. He’s tired of reliving that period of his life, sick of explaining it to people who won’t get it anyway, no matter how hard he tries. It was the experience of a lifetime, but he’s still got to live for the rest of that lifetime, and he just wants to move on.

"Uh huh," Tim agrees, his expression one of complete disgust. "Did you know Casey Kasem posted a full-page rebuttal to the shit Wright said about him?"

Nate breathes a short laugh through his nose, shaking his head. 

"I’m sure I don’t want to know what that entailed."

"Probably not," Tim says, then gives a considering tilt of his head. "He did have a lot to say about what disloyal cowards you and Mike were, but he actually seemed more upset about Wright calling him a POG than anything else." Tim shrugs.

"I’m crushed," Nate says. He pauses before continuing. "I gotta ask, though. Did you really tell Schwetje he was incompetent...to his face?"

Tim quirks a smile, barely a glimmer of humor there.

"He asked. Insisted, really."

Nate laughs and takes a bite of his pizza, and both of them eat and drink in silence for a minute or two.

"So what’s going on with you, Tim?" Nate asks. They’re sitting about a foot apart on the couch, elbows on their respective knees, sharing the coffee table and each other’s space pretty easily. It’s not unlike sitting around a fire shooting the shit in Iraq except Bryan doesn’t meet his gaze, now; he just sits eyes forward, contemplating his beer bottle. He shakes his head.

"Working as a paramedic up in Baltimore."

"Sounds like a good fit, with your experience."

Tim grunts.

"Yeah, I guess. It’s not the same as over there."

Nate laughs. It’s a sharp, bitter sound.

"No. Nothing is, is it?" he says ruefully.

"No."

Nate lets that sit for a few moments. 

"You know, I never thanked you," Nate says.

Bryan cuts his eyes at him.

"For?"

"For getting all of us out of Iraq in one piece."

Tim breathes a small humorless laugh.

"I think you’re confusing me with you, LT."

"No one calls me that anymore," Nate replies, smiling a little, and Tim acknowledges the joke with a quirk of his mouth. 

"Seriously, Tim…the way you trained the men to respond to injuries before we even left Mathilda…it went above and beyond, and they fared better for it. You should be proud of what you did over there."

"I read your book, Nate," Bryan answers, rather sharply. Then he softens a bit, taking a deep breath and letting it out before he continues, like he’s trying to stay calm. His jaw muscle is still as rigidly flexed as it ever was, though. "I appreciate what you said. In the book, and…before. That last time."

Nate assumes he’s talking about the last time he addressed his platoon as their commander, not too long after they got back stateside. He’d said a lot of things, pouring out his heartfelt love for them all, couched in military moto speechifying, knowing they'd understand what he was really saying. He said he was proud of them, that he was honored to have served with them, and that if they needed anything from him henceforth, all they had to do was ask. He thinks his message must have gotten across for Tim to be here at all.

Nate has no idea what to say now, but he’s getting really tired of this circular conversation that signifies and solves nothing.

"To tell you the truth, I was surprised to see you tonight. I figured you’d be busy with med school by now."

Tim snorts.

"Yeah, I’ll get right on that. After I rob a bank."

Nate frowns.

"What about your GI bill benefits?"

"Not enough. Especially not with alimony."

"Oh, sorry. The divorce happen after you got back?" Nate hadn’t even known Tim was married when they were in Iraq. 

"Yeah," Tim says, then shakes his head. "I was an asshole before I went to war; imagine what I was like afterward." 

Tim’s gaze is so aggressively direct that Nate isn’t sure for a moment whether he’s going to listen to what Nate has to say or jump him and beat the shit out of him. Or try to, anyway.

"Have you seen anybody about this? Professionally?" Nate asks.

"Oh yeah. Marriage counseling, individual counseling, the whole nine yards," Tim says bitterly, and then he looks Nate square in the eye, challenging. "Why? You got an answer for that too, Mr. Fix-it? I mean, that’s what we’re doing here, right? You’re gonna fix your fucked-up former team member?" 

He says it with a sneer, and Nate can see the anger rekindling in his eyes. He tries to open the release valve on the tension with humor.

"I think I left my magic wand in my other pants, actually," Nate says mildly. 

Tim sighs and shakes his head, jaw clenching and releasing rhythmically. 

"You know what? This was a mistake. Sorry to have wasted your time, sir." 

He starts to get up and Nate extends a restraining hand. 

"Tim, wait. Do you trust me?"

Bryan meets his eyes, and there’s suddenly something so honest, so vulnerable in his expression that it’s almost painful to look at.

"That was never the problem, LT. _You_ were never the problem."

Nate nods, swallowing around the knot tightening his throat. He feels hot and uncomfortable under the force of Tim’s unwavering gaze. It’s partly Tim’s words that are making Nate uneasy—he’s never been very good at accepting compliments—but there’s something else, too. _Is Tim staring at Nate's mouth?_ Because he’s had more than his fair share of that in his life, and this is pretty much what it feels like. He licks his lips self-consciously. Tim looks away abruptly, swipes one hand across the bottom half of his face, nervous. _Yeah, that’s what I thought_ , Nate thinks. 

Nate realizes he’s let the silence hang too long then and pulls his focus back to the topic at hand. He takes a deep breath and lets it out before he speaks.

"You’re right," Nate says. "I don’t have any answers for you, but I have connections at the VA who might be able to help you out, maybe point us in the right direction. Can you stay a day or two? Or do you have to get back?"

Tim closes his eyes for a moment and then he collapses against the back of the couch and laughs. It’s not a pretty sound and it throws Nate for a minute. His face must show it, because Tim grins, shark-like. He shakes his head.

"Nope, I don’t have to be back for a while. I’m on suspension pending completion of counseling. There was a little…altercation…between me and the captain."

Nate takes that in, frowning in confusion for a moment before he answers.

"So…you’re telling me that you made it through all the bullshit in the military, put up with everything our fucked-up command threw at you during a fucking _war_ , only to come unglued all over some civilian firefighter?" Nate asks, incredulous.

"Yep," Tim says, smiling crookedly with his head lolled back against the couch, turned slightly toward Nate.

"I don’t know what to say about that," Nate says, "except I need another beer." 

Tim nods in agreement when Nate makes an interrogative gesture in his direction. When he comes back, Tim seems a little more relaxed. It’s a small victory, but Nate’s happy to put it in in the win column at this point.

"So, what next?" Nate asks.

"Well, no offense to your career presentation, Nate, but honestly, I don’t know," Tim says. Nate nods, then checks the time.

"Tell you what. It’s getting late and I have somewhere I have to be early tomorrow morning, but there are some things I want to check on before you head home. Do you have a place to stay in town?"

"Not yet."

Nate shrugs. 

"You’re welcome to the couch." 

He doesn’t say that he’d rather Tim not be out driving around, as tired as he looks, and after a couple of beers. Tim is a grown man, older than Nate for that matter, and treating him like a child isn’t going to get him anywhere. Maybe his face is communicating some of his concern or something, because Tim is watching him closely. Nate puzzles over that for a minute. There’s something _off_ about that look, until he realizes he’s missing that stupid camo head rag that Doc wore in Iraq. Because Iraq was the last time he saw this expression on Doc’s face.

Tim leans in, narrowing the distance between them by about half and placing a hand on Nate’s thigh. It’s not a casual touch; it’s mindful, and Nate abruptly gets the message. Tim has intentions toward him, more than friendly ones, and Nate has a decision to make. Tim waits for a beat or two, long enough for Nate to mentally shift gears and get up to speed. Nate’s first thought is that this is a really bad idea, but the quickening of his own breathing and the heat stirring low in his belly at least leave no doubt as to whether or not he wants it.

Tim must read it in his face, because he closes the gap between them and presses his lips to Nate’s slightly parted ones. It’s a soft kiss, and Nate's eyes flutter shut as he thinks of Doc during the invasion and its aftermath, his gentle touch with the wounded children, no matter that he was every bit as dangerous as any other man in the unit. He’s dangerous now, Nate reminds himself, as Tim pulls away, barely an inch between their mouths.

"I’ve wanted to do that since Iraq," Tim says. Nate can feel Tim’s breath moving against his own lips as he speaks.

"And?" Nate asks, running his tongue over his bottom lip without conscious forethought. Tim tracks the motion and his breath hitches. Nate can hear the sound it makes as it catches in his throat.

"And shit like that is why…the goddamned _mouth_ on you… _Jesus_ ," Tim says low and raspy, and presses back in, claiming Nate’s mouth with his own.

This kiss is in no way gentle. Tim surges forward, pressing Nate back onto the couch and climbing on top of him, one thigh forced between Nate’s own with enough pressure to make him grunt. _God, how did I miss this when we were in Iraq?_ He’d had other things to worry about, of course—wrong time, wrong place and all that, but still—his situational awareness apparently hadn’t been everything he’d thought.

Tim is smaller than Nate but he’s heavy, lean and thickly muscled, like he kept up with PT after the military, and he presses Nate into the couch cushions. It’s a bit strange to be the one on the bottom, but he can’t deny the thrill that goes through him at being wanted like this, at feeling the hot hard ridge of Tim’s cock against his hip, knowing that he’s responsible for it.

Nate suspects the urgency is more about covering up a lingering bit of uncertainty than about aggression and he parts his lips, lets him in. Tim doesn’t waste a second before exploring Nate’s mouth, eyes closed tightly like it requires all his focus. He’s good at it, too, curling his tongue around Nate’s, all soft suction and moist heat, and it isn’t long before Nate has to break away just to breathe, turning his head to the side.

Tim lets him, barely missing a beat before he goes to town on Nate’s freshly exposed neck, pressing sucking kisses and little bites into the tender skin of his throat. _Exploiting my weaknesses_ , Nate thinks, but he’s not much fussed about it. It feels too good, the scrape of stubble against his neck sending waves of pleasure over his whole body, and a warm rush of blood to his cock.

Nate groans and wraps his arms around Tim, pulling him closer, one hand gripping his ass and squeezing. The firm muscle tightens under his hand as Tim grinds against him, grunting softly with the effort and the sensation.

"Fuck," Tim whispers, and he’s all over Nate, kissing him and writhing on top of him. He’s warm and alive and whole, and whether or not Nate had anything to do with him still being all those things, he can’t help the fleeting possessive thought of _mine_ —or the way his arms tighten around Tim, the sudden fierceness in the way he kisses Tim back. 

Tim breaks the kiss finally, breathing hard, pulling away just far enough to get a hand between them, fumbling with Nate’s belt. Nate can’t see any reason to stop for niceties, so he bats Tim’s hand away and uses both of his own to open his pants and pull them down, along with his underwear. He took his shoes off when he first came in the door, so it’s a simple matter to pull one leg free of the constricting clothing. Tim gets the idea quickly and follows suit, and Nate pulls him back down as soon as his ass is bare. 

The warmth of skin on skin is delicious and Nate groans, rolling his hips up against Tim’s. Tim’s cock is leaking heavily and the head leaves a moist trail on Nate’s skin as it drags against his hip. He manhandles Tim into a better position and wraps his fingers around both of them, squeezing, smearing the wetness and wrenching a rough, sexy moan from Tim that draws Nate’s attention to his face.

He’s braced above Nate with his hands on Nate’s shoulders, his head thrown back and eyes closed, looking lost in the pleasure of it. The thought of having put that expression there ignites a new urgency in Nate.

"Yeah, come on, do it…" he murmurs, keeping one hand around their cocks, stroking, swiping his palm over the heads and using his free hand on Tim’s ass to encourage him to move faster, fuck his hand harder.

"Come for me, Doc…come all over me… _do it_ …" he says. Tim makes a strangled cry and does, grinding down hard and coming in hot, slick spurts over Nate’s fist. 

The splash of come over Nate’s dick shocks his orgasm right out of him even as Tim is finishing. Nate’s muscles lock and his hips jerk upward. Tim gasps as Nate’s grip on both of them tightens, wave after wave of pleasure washing over Nate.

When the aftershocks have receded, Nate opens his eyes to see Tim staring down at him. This is a new look, one he doesn’t know how to interpret, dark and intense. Tim holds his gaze for a few seconds, then snorts softly and shakes his head. He gets off Nate without a word, grimacing at the mess on his belly as he pulls away. Nate looks away and busies himself with cleanup, pulling his own shirt off and using it to mop up the worst of the come from his stomach. There’s a lot of it; it must have been a while for Tim. He separates his pants from his underwear and pulls the latter back on for now.

"The bathroom’s down the hall on the left," Nate says, finally, then turns and walks away, into the kitchen to wash his hands. He stays in there for a few minutes, wanting to give Tim some time to regroup. Honestly he wouldn’t mind a few minutes for that either. This wasn’t the way he’d expected the evening to go, not at all.

It doesn’t take him long to decide that it doesn’t require a lot of analysis, though. Neither of them is bound by military codes of conduct anymore, and Nate’s never been one to turn down casual sex between equals when the situation is favorable and there’s mutual attraction. It was what it was. It’s gratifying, even, to discover that there’s still a level of trust between them that surpasses any civilian bond. That covers a multitude of sins, in Nate’s book. 

Tim must have been quicker on the uptake than Nate on the "so, that happened" score, because when Nate comes back to the living room, Tim is already asleep on the couch. Nate pulls a blanket from the hall closet and drapes it over him before heading for bed himself.

Nate is standing at the counter making coffee the next morning when Tim comes up behind him. Nate feels him there but doesn’t turn, knowing he’s more likely to talk if he doesn’t have to look Nate in the eye. 

"You know, LT," Tim says, and Nate doesn’t correct him. "When you gave us that speech, right before you left the Corps, about being there for us if we needed anything down the road…"

There’s a dry tone to his voice and Nate laughs. 

"Yeah. Guess I didn’t really think that one through, did I?" 

Not that it matters. Whatever he did last night, whatever he’s done for the men formerly under his command, it isn’t enough, and Nate knows it never will be.

"Well, thanks anyway," Tim says. He lays a warm hand on the back of Nate’s neck and gives it a brief squeeze. 

Nate nods in acknowledgment. 

"Take my card; give me a call next week. I should have some information for you by then," Nate says, nodding at the business card he’d already set out on the counter for him.

"Okay. Yeah, I’ll do that."

"Good."

Tim walks away and Nate hears the front door click softly shut behind him.

Nate stands at the counter staring into his coffee cup until long after it has gone cold. If somebody like Tim Bryan is having this much trouble reintegrating into civilian life, what can it be like for the grunts on the ground, the ones without his native intelligence and training? Nate looks at the clock finally and sees he can’t wait any longer to start his day. He shakes it off and heads for the shower. 

He’s got a world to change.

  


**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's notes:** I really knew very little about what happened to Tim Bryan after the military, and obviously liberties have been taken with the life situations of both characters. The missive mentioned by Bryan regarding Sgt. Griego's rebuttal of GK actually exists, however, and although the original post has been taken down everything lasts forever on the internet, and copies are still out there. It's not well-written and I found it difficult to read.
> 
> There is one post on a message board for med students claiming to be Doc Bryan, which reads:
> 
>  _"I'm Doc Bryan from Generation Kill. I'm an M-1. When assigned to 1st Recon, I was a SARC (enlisted Hospital Corpsman with Special Operations training). To my fellow Medical Students, don't believe everything you read and see! Take the series and the book as entertainment; historical fiction at best. Good luck with school._  
>  Mike.... stop sending me this crap!"
> 
> The last line is where the reference in the fic comes from, although I have no idea if the "Mike" he mentions is actually Gunny Wynn or not.


End file.
